


Snowflakes

by Narassi



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: (It's the Freelancers), Angst, Angst and Fluff, But there's a sort of happy ending, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, The hurt and the angst have a much higher ratio than the comfort and fluff, this is a sad one guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narassi/pseuds/Narassi
Summary: Wash hates Christmas. He doesn't mean to be a Grinch, but it's sort of hard to enjoy the holiday when all of his friends and family are dead.Well. Until he meets the Reds and Blues.





	Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I don't usually write this much angst. I'm both surprised and kind of impressed. 
> 
> Inspired by the fact that I spent 90% of Christmas Eve alone because of shitty circumstances. 
> 
> Also, I don't typically write and post stuff on the same day. This is very likely to have mistakes, sorry guys. You're welcome to let me know if you spot anything. 
> 
> Enjoy!! Oh, and Merry Christmas!

Wash hates Christmas.

He hasn’t always hated it. Once, a long time ago, it had been his favorite holiday. His mother had passed on her own love of the holiday to him and his sisters. Every December they spent a full day covering every room in the house with tinsel and garland. The only limit to their Christmas tree was that it had to fit on the car, and so they’d usually shove a nine-foot tree through the front doorway and into their living room, before decorating it with ornaments. He and his mother would bake cookies and pies once school was over so that their family had enough to last them through the season. Christmas Eve was the time to spend with the extended family, with a big fancy dinner and presents exchanged. On Christmas Day, they’d open presents in their pajamas and play with the goodies all day.

They lived in a place that got snow most winters. His sisters would make snow angels in the yard. He and the kids on the street would have an epic snowball war every year. He’d come inside when he got too cold, and splay out by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies. When he was younger, Christmas was his favorite.

Getting drafted meant not being able to spend Christmas with his family. The first Christmas away, he tried so hard not to cry at the thought of not getting to celebrate. Everyone got an extra helping of food from the mess, and they traded stories of how they celebrated the holidays back at home.

The first Christmas after his homeworld got glassed was rough. He did cry that Christmas. His squadmates pretended not to notice.

Christmas on the MoI was better. The Freelancers were a festive bunch. York broke into the kitchen to let Wash and North bake cookies. South shared her stash of booze. Florida passed out horribly ugly Christmas sweaters. The whole squad spent Christmas Eve in the rec room, blasting Christmas music and celebrating. They did their best to celebrate Christmas every year, even if just by wearing the ugly sweaters over their armor.  Wash learned much later that they hadn’t actually ever celebrated on the ship before. They went to all those lengths to celebrate for _him_ , because he had told them about Christmas at home. He loved them all the more for it.

Then Epsilon happened. The ship crashed. Carolina died. The other Freelancers left. He spent two Christmases in a hospital, not remembering whether he celebrated Christmas or Hanukkah. The Freelancers died one by one. He spent one particularly horrible Christmas in prison, in isolation. Not even an extra helping of food from the mess. No “Merry Christmas” from the guards. Nothing. That year, he convinced himself it was better that way. David was the person who loved Christmas, and David had been destroyed by Epsilon. Washington fucking hated Christmas. He hated the holidays. He hated the cheer. He hated his memories of the holidays, so he pushed them as far away as he could.

So when he’s out of prison, when he’s been adopted by the Reds and Blues after Sidewinder, when they have found a little canyon in the mountains with two bases on either side, Christmas stings. Wash doesn’t know what to do when Caboose starts singing Christmas carols one day. He punches a wall when Tucker finds a stash of Christmas decorations in the basement.  He avoids looking at the decorations by staying in his room or outside the base. And when it snows, and the Reds and Blues take off their armor to bundle up and play in the snow, he has to dash away to vomit behind the base.

Wash tells himself he doesn’t deserve a real Christmas anymore. He doesn’t even want a real Christmas. He doesn’t want any part of the revelry, not anymore. He stays away from everyone and their stupid cheerfulness. Christmas Eve sees him sitting on a rock out of sight of Blue Base, where the sim troopers are throwing a little Christmas party. Grif had cooked, for once, and apparently there were cookies. Sarge had discovered a stash of booze in Red base, left by the previous occupants. Everybody gathered inside of Blue base to share the food and drink. Wash had left the base early in the morning to patrol the canyon, and hadn’t gone back since. His stomach gnaws at him with hunger, but he makes no move to go back. He won’t go back until the sounds of the party drift off into silence, and the Reds go back to their own base.

He’s been watching the snow fall lightly around him, catching the flakes on his gloves and trying to find the perfect one. The cold doesn’t bother him, not really, not in his suit. The temperature controls in Epsilon’s suit work a lot better than the ones in his own ever did. He wonders why an AI unit would have better heating in his suit than an actual person. His lips quirk up slightly at the thought.

A crunch behind him startles him. He drops his hands, sparing a small sigh for the cute little snowflake he’d just caught. He turns around. It’s Tucker, holding something that looks like a blanket.

“Hey, dude,” Tucker says. The aqua soldier starts towards him again and sits in the snow next to him.

“What do you need?” Wash asks.

Tucker sets the blanket down, revealing the plate underneath. “I wasn’t sure where you went so I covered these so they wouldn’t get cold. Here. This is for you.” He holds it out.

Wash’s throat goes dry. It’s a tray—well, a wooden plank, really. It’s a tray of food. A plate sits on top with meat, potatoes, something green, and a small pile of cookies. A mug of something dark sits off to the side. Hot chocolate?

Tucker clears his throat. “Look, I know you don’t seem to like Christmas. You probably miss your family or your team or whatever. But it seems pretty shitty to...” Tucker trails off and shakes his head. “If you want, I’ll take this all back inside and never mention Christmas to you again. Tomorrow we’ll all go to Red Base and leave you alone. But you’ve gotta be hungry, dude.”

Wash very stubbornly does not allow tears to fall. His hands shake, though, as he reaches out and accepts the tray. “Thank you,” he whispers. He settles the tray on his lap.

Tucker looks away. “Yeah, whatever dude. You’re welcome. You, uh. Want me to go away?”

Wash thinks about the tears in his eyes and nods slowly. “If you don’t mind.”

Tucker shrugs. “Nah, it’s alright. I figured you’d want to be alone. Just, uh. We’re all there if you wanna hang out. The Reds are gonna leave in a couple hours, but tomorrow we’ll go over to their base and celebrate all over again. You’re welcome to join if you feel up to it.”

Wash nods. “Thanks.”

Tucker waves him off and stands up. Wash watches him take the blanket and go back down the path. As soon as the he is out of sight, Wash’s helmet is off and he is shoveling the food into his mouth. He starts with the mashed potatoes—god, they even have gravy. He doesn’t recognize the green vegetable-thing, so he covers it in the potatoes and scarfs it down, too. The meat is well seasoned and possibly the best thing he’s tasted in years. He knows he’s going to give himself a stomach ache with the speed he’s eating, but he doesn’t care. He gulps down some of the hot chocolate and winces as it burns his mouth. He slows down, less frantic now, and savors the last few bites. He covers the cookies with one hand to prevent the snow from soaking them, and cradles the mug in the other.

Wash looks back towards the base, almost wistfully. Tucker was right. He misses his family. He misses his team. He misses _Christmas_. He looks down at the cookies. Two are crudely shaped people, with features made out of frosting. One of them is so obviously made by Caboose. The frosting is a weird off-brown, slightly purple. When he sees the yellow stripes, he realizes it’s supposed to be grey. It’s him. There are eyes and a smile made out of blue frosting. The other person is plain blue. There’s also a star, and what looks like it’s supposed to be a Christmas tree.

He eats them slowly, almost reverently. He sips his hot chocolate, which is cool now because of the snow falling in it. When he finishes it all, he slides the tray off of his lap and into the snow. For the first time in many, many years, he allows the tears to fall. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. The tears are more of a release, all the bad memories of Christmas pooling in his eyes and sliding down his cheeks and into the snow. He doesn’t sob; just calmly lets the tears blur his eyes and fall of their own accord.

It takes a while, but the tears slow and finally stop altogether. Wash sniffles and wipes his eyes with his gloves. He spends another few moments watching the snowflakes swirl around him, mostly to give his face time to look like he hasn’t just cried for a long time. When he’s sure that the redness in his cheeks is only from the cold, he stands and picks up his helmet. He tucks it under one arm, picks up the tray with the other, and makes his way back to Blue base.

Maybe Christmas can be salvaged this year.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr! agentfrecklelancer.tumblr.com


End file.
